


While the Cat's Away

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonding, Cat!Severus, M/M, Professsor!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus Dumbledore promised to reward Severus Snape for doing his part to protect the Boy Who Lived. Severus, always the opportunist, chose Harry Potter himself as his prize. Unfortunately, Albus Dumbledore didn’t live long enough to let Harry in on this arrangement. Now, five years have passed since the Final Battle, and Harry Potter, forced off the Quidditch pitch and rerouted on his career path by a Bludger to his head, comes to Hogwarts to temporarily take over for Hagrid. Here he encounters a headmaster who seems to pop up when he’s least expecting him, some meddlesome portraits and a couple of very interesting cats. A fun frolic leading to a fairy tale forever for the fated lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While the Cat's Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allthingsmagical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthingsmagical/gifts).



> This story was written for the 2014 Snarry Glompfest for Magicalthings, who said she'd like Headmaster!Snape and Professor!Harry, bottom!Harry, and shower sex, and asked for mpreg, bonding, cat!Severus, Harry confiding to cat!Severus, lots of plot and happy endings. I managed to work quite a few of those into this fic and hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Thanks to badgerlady for the beta. You are a gem and I truly appreciate your help in keeping me in commas and hyphens.
> 
> I'm told that this story is a departure from my typical style. It was a pinch-hit and I had to write it in a hurry, but had a lot of fun doing so.

ooOoo

Far away from the Muggle World, in a magical castle in Scotland, a powerful wizard named Albus Dumbledore (while he was still flesh and blood and sharp wits and twinkling eyes) had made a promise to another wizard (also powerful, slightly less so, and much more somber). _Keep the boy safe. Keep the boy alive. And in return – in return – I will, when the time is right, reward you._

Severus Snape, the wizard in question (cunning, very brave and not at all shy about asking for what he wanted), had demanded nothing less than the boy himself.

And Albus, with an interested spark in his sky blue eyes, had agreed, providing that theirs be a permanent union, that Severus and the boy must bond. Properly, of course. On the up and up in a Wizarding ceremony with vows and hand-fasting and golden sparks and cake with light-as-air fairy frosting.

But not while Potter was still a boy. Oh no. Severus must _wait_.

Fortunately, Severus Snape was long-accustomed to waiting. And he wasn’t interested in acne-faced teens with hairless chests. He was interested in a partner to elevate him in life, erase his damaged social status (which was already in the proverbial basement and would be far worse when this war was over), provide an escort for all those awkward Potions Guild awards ceremonies, care for him in his dotage, and warm his bed along the way.

Potter seemed a perfectly likely candidate, one who had a particular predisposition to look up to Albus Dumbledore, accept his word as law, and generally do his bidding. He was from good Wizarding stock, wasn’t too unpleasant to look at, had a decent brain when he decided to use it, and had a reserved spot at the top of the Wizarding world’s Who’s Who list.

“But you must let him live a bit first, Severus,” Albus had warned that day so long ago, the very day that Harry Potter’s name had popped out of the Goblet of Fire.

And Severus had agreed to wait, on the condition that Albus, as Harry Potter’s magical guardian, file a binding marriage contract with the Ministry, on the off-chance that the old wizard didn’t survive until Potter was of the appropriate age to commit himself to Severus, and the not-so-off chance that Potter would try to wiggle around Albus’ promise.

Severus Snape had largely put the matter out of his mind during the ensuing years, and when Albus confessed that Harry would have to die to see this thing with the dark wizard Voldemort to its end, Severus, trapped within a growing web of evil, had little energy to devote to the deception. When the time came to fulfill his promise to Albus Dumbledore, he certainly hated raising his wand against him, no matter that the man would have been dead within weeks anyway, but felt just a tiny bit vindicated since Albus had clearly not expected to fulfill his own promise.

But against all odds, the boy had lived, and Severus had lived, and Albus, though dead, could still be of some influence (and even more annoyance) from his portrait. And there was the matter of the marriage contract, which Severus was prepared to produce if Harry didn’t see reason when presented with Albus’ promise.

Five years had passed since the Great Battle to End All Battles, and Severus Snape was still at Hogwarts.

Watching. Biding his time.

And waiting.

ooOoo

After the Battle of Hogwarts and the final destruction of Voldemort, Harry Potter had joined the Aurors. He’d lasted an unhappy year there battling everyone’s expectations of him before being recruited to play professional Quidditch. That venture had kept him busy for three more years, but he was ultimately forced to retire after taking a Bludger to the head.

The accident had changed him. Some claimed, after observing him post-Bludger, that it made him a bit simple, a mite addled, though Severus Snape, who made it his business to know these things, wouldn’t agree with that. But it was plain and clear that Harry Potter _was_ different after the accident, and it was logical to attribute the change in his behavior to the Bludger having rearranged his brain a bit. 

In fact, the Bludger _had_ done something to Harry that affected his deportment, something deep, something fundamental. It didn’t make him a stronger wizard, or a more powerful one, but rather a more solitary, contemplative one. He now took long walks alone in the woods outside of Godric’s Hollow, where he’d purchased a small cottage in a Bludger-free zone. He spent hours alone in the gardens, and made frequent visits to Hogwarts, adventuring out on forays and expeditions into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid.

Headmaster Snape seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to Harry Potter. More often than not, he would appear, seemingly out of thin air, while Harry and Hagrid were headed toward the forest, and would put in a request for one rare ingredient or another, if they should happen to see it on their forays. Or he might ask them to deliver a message to Firenze, or check the extent of the Apparition wards, or bring back some wand wood tree saplings for Madam Poppy and her O.W.L. students.

By this time, Harry no longer had a built-in girlfriend. She had, in fact, ended their relationship after the accident. The papers surmised that she’d had her sights set on Harry Potter, Quidditch star. His friends were relieved that the couple had finally seen the writing on the wall. Indeed, Ginny Weasley was soon dating again, and Harry – well, Harry seemed to be perfectly content without a girlfriend.

Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, and a year after Harry’s Quidditch career ended, Hagrid approached Harry with a problem, and Harry, hands in his jeans pockets, whistling quietly, made his way to the gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s office. He tilted his head to the right. The gargoyle tilted left right along with him. He tilted to the left. The gargoyle tilted right.

“Sherbet Lemon,” he said. A smile lit his face – there and gone again – and the gargoyle stepped aside, and Harry stepped onto the moving staircase.

Headmaster Snape did not appear surprised when Harry knocked on his door and stepped into his office. He’d had very little contact with the young man over the five years since the Final Battle, succeeding, with pointed determination, in allowing the boy to live a little, experience life and have some sense knocked into him before pursuing the logical and, indeed, promised culmination of their relationship. Nearly all of this contact had occurred during the past year when Harry, free of work commitments, began spending so much time with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was a member of the Hogwarts staff, and as such, Severus had ample opportunity to inquire after his activities on Hogwarts grounds with Harry. And as Hagrid had no filters, Severus was now well aware that Harry Potter had developed an affinity for animals of all sorts, magical and otherwise. He’d helped Hagrid in the delivery of a set of Thestral twins, had approached a unicorn and talked him out of a nice braid of tail hairs, and had even walked among the acromantulas. When he rested against the trees, squirrels would sit on this knee chattering at him and robins would perch on his shoulders. Hagrid’s corgi pup had learned manners at Harry’s hand, and the post owls fought to reach him first when he visited the owlery, whether or not he had a pocketful of mice for them.

Hagrid supposed this new facet of Harry came from that Bludger waking up his dormant creature side. He figured it was there to begin with, seeing as James had been an Animagus and all.

So, while gargoyles were not animals, they could be considered magical creatures. That this new Harry Potter had hoodwinked his guard was not too much of a surprise to Headmaster Snape.

What did come as a surprise was that Harry Potter had come to him to ask for Hagrid’s job. Hagrid, in all his bluster and bumble, had not once indicated to his boss that he was contemplating a sabbatical.

Temporarily, of course. Hagrid was hoping to spend a term or two abroad with Madam Maxine – their relationship was moving at a glacial pace – and didn’t trust the job to just anybody. He no longer taught Care of Magical Creatures, but still kept the grounds and was charged with patrolling the Forbidden Forest and gathering up and lending creatures to the current professors for Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures and Charms. He also maintained the Flobberworm garden (it required a frequent infusion of dragon dung) and the leech pool in a secluded portion of the Great Lake.

Harry stood in front of Severus Snape now, hands clasped behind his back, totally at ease in the presence of the man he had, at various times in his life, hated, feared, admired, pitied and, in the guise of the Half Blood Prince, liked very, very much indeed, to a rather obsessive level, if Hermione Granger was asked her opinion.

“He’s offered me his hut ( _cottage,_ the headmaster had corrected), so I won’t need quarters in the castle. And we’ve already had a look at the class plans for the term so I know what Professor Honeywell and the others will need. Nothing too tricky, really. And I’ll settle for half what you pay him as I’m new at this and don’t have certifications.” The young man smiled, shrugged his shoulders. “I’m interested in a career change, actually, and would appreciate the chance to apprentice here.” 

There was something about the way he swept his eyes over Severus that made the headmaster wonder if Harry Potter was interested in more than a career change. He dismissed the thought, though, and pretended to consider the offer for the space of four breaths, then stood and held out his hand.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Potter,” he said. “I’ll have the contract ready on Friday.”

Behind his desk, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, snoring noisily with his arms crossed over his chest and his bright blue starred, mooned, and tasseled hat pulled down over his forehead, opened one eye and twinkled.

Headmaster Snape was not a stupid man. Though his job required a good deal of effort and organization, he never deliberately made more work for himself. Harry Potter’s offer had saved him hours of labor advertising a position and interviewing candidates. Hours he could now spend in his long-term project of writing a household Potions guide tentatively titled “1-2-3: Helpful Household Potions with Three Common Ingredients in Thirty Minutes or Less.” Of course, that was only the working title. And of course, he had no real interest in the project save the financial remuneration the publisher promised. Enough, in fact, for him to live on while he worked on something more worthy of his time and intellect.

And not unimportantly, having Harry at Hogwarts would most certainly expedite their union. While Severus absolutely did have long-term goals of companionship and care, he was most interested, at this stage of his life, in taking Harry to bed. Repeatedly. Perhaps even before the bonding, though really, the sequence of events mattered little to Severus, so long as he got what had been promised him. 

He offered Potter tea, and the new temporary groundskeeper accepted, and what ensued was an interesting half hour of general chit-chat that really had very little to do with pets or potions. Severus, in fact, asked why Harry had broken up with Ginny Weasley. Harry had shrugged and answered that she wasn’t the one. He’d in turn asked why Severus was still here at Hogwarts when he clearly disliked both teaching and administration. Severus had raised an interested eyebrow and admitted that he had other projects in the works. Harry had smiled and sipped his tea thoughtfully.

When Harry left the headmaster’s office, Severus swiveled his chair around to face the previous headmaster’s portrait.

“You will leave him alone now, Albus. That Bludger was pushing it – it could have killed him and then where would I be?”

“It’s all coming together, Severus. Winky was admittedly a bit over-zealous with her enchantment on the Bludger, but it did have the desired effect of ending Harry’s Quidditch career, did it not?”

“It did,” Severus agreed reluctantly. He folded his arms. “I’m a patient man, Albus, but I’ve waited a very long time. And there is something different about Harry since the accident.”

“He’s not wearing spectacles,” mused portrait Albus. 

“No, he’s not, is he?” replied Severus, considering that for a long moment. Another effect of the Bludger, he assumed. Trust a Quidditch accident to cure the boy’s atrocious eyesight.

“He has the most beautiful eyes, doesn’t he?” Portrait Albus nearly sighed.

“If you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you,” muttered Severus.

“Again?” asked Portrait Albus, raising an eyebrow and looking over the top of his half-moon spectacles at Severus.

Severus glared at him. 

“You mean the animals, of course,” said Portrait Albus. He held up his hand and a phoenix, glorious in its red and gold plumage, flew from its perch beside the door and alit on a painted perch in Albus’ frame, merging gracefully into the painting with a small puff of red dust.

“Of course I mean the animals,” Severus said, frowning at the now-portrait phoenix. “And will you quit _doing_ that? It’s impossible. Even with magic.”

The two headmasters stared at each other, one twinkling, the other glaring.

Finally, Portrait Albus broke the silence.

“When it comes to animals, Severus, I do believe you have a slight advantage.”

Severus tapped his fingers on his desk and smiled. It was not a Cheshire grin, but then again, the Cheshire was not his cat of choice.

ooOoo

The corgi pup chased a ground squirrel as Harry, wearing sturdy boots and with hair even more disheveled than usual, stood studying a small enclosure behind the hut in which he’d been amassing a collection of common box tortoises. Professor McGonagall had requested them for her O.W.L. level Transfiguration students, and he’d been gathering them for the better part of three days now. A shrill _caw_ from behind him interrupted the near silence of the morning, and he turned his head to see a crow alight on the hut roof, joining two pigeons, a half dozen starlings, a mourning dove, an off-duty post owl, a kestrel and a magpie.

He looked at the crow a bit suspiciously. It wasn’t one he’d seen before, and the bird lifted its wings, as if in protest of the unnecessary scrutiny, and spat out another harsh _caw_

“Oh, keep your pants on,” said Harry with a smile, snapping his fingers then holding out his hand. The bird obediently flew down and landed on Harry’s outstretched arm, allowing him to run two fingers down the back of its head, over sleek feathers. He lifted his arm until the bird was eye-level, then cocked his head and stared into the bird’s coal-black eyes.

Truth be told, Harry couldn’t actually _talk_ with animals. He didn’t understand the nuances of the myriad sounds they made, though he could now readily classify those sounds into different categories – warning, romance, socialization. He understood the animals by their movements and actions and reactions. He could project trust and calm, blend into his environment so much that they treated him more like a tree than another sentient being. And he supposed the Bludger had knocked something around in his brain a bit, or affected his magic at some root level, because this odd affinity for creatures had only surfaced after he’d been released from St. Mungo’s.

The bird let out a loud and raucous _caw!_ and Harry smiled and shooed it away with a wave of his fingers.

“You’re just a bird,” he muttered fondly. “A common crow. Corvus corvus.”

Which made one ask what, exactly, Harry expected to find when he stared into the eyes of a bird or beast.

He watched the tortoises crawl around in the enclosure for a few more minutes, then turned his head again and looked sidelong at the roof, focusing on the magpie.

The magpie, aware of his scrutiny, fluffed its feathers, then stretched its wings. It strutted about on the roof, and the starlings scooted out of its way. 

Then suddenly, all the birds took flight as a sleek black cat leapt out of the woodpile onto the roof.

Harry laughed. “Didn’t see you there, Dudley.” 

On the roof, Dudley, the very black, very muscular and very disappointed cat, swiped at the air with one paw then licked it and stared down at Harry, who shrugged and picked up his walking stick, beckoning to the corgi pup with a whistle.

The corgi, however, was barking at something that he’d cornered in the alcove by the back door.

The something, Harry discovered a moment later, was another cat – a bony orange tabby with a nearly hairless neck, golden eyes flecked with green, and a disagreeable attitude.

While the corgi backed off as soon as Harry snapped his fingers, the cat remained tense, back arched, hair on end, tail puffed. Snarling.

Harry regarded it a moment. He leaned his walking stick against the hut.

“You’re hungry,” he said. “I suppose you can come in for a bite.”

On the roof, Dudley let out a long yowl.

“You too, Dudders.” Harry opened the back door and stepped inside, leaving the door open. Dudley immediately came down by way of the woodpile, hissing at the orange cat rather imperiously as he passed, then sliding along Harry’s jeans leg before leaping gracefully up onto a kitchen stool.

“Eggs and sausage,” Harry announced, to no one in particular. Dudley cocked his head and looked with interest at the frying pan on the stove while the orange tabby slunk to the doorway, belly scraping the ground, and peeked in.

Harry’s eyes were on the tabby as he pulled down two stoneware plates and spooned some scramble onto each of them.

“You’re a wary one, aren’t you?” he said as he slid one plate onto the countertop for Dudley. “Not much to be afraid of here, really, once you get used to everyone. Where did you come from? The village?”

The cat seemed to have one eye on Harry’s face and the other on the plate in his left hand.

“You’re not from the castle – definitely not on the official pet list – I’d have noticed you already and told the house-elves to fatten you up a bit.” He crouched down, put the plate softly on the floor before him, then slid it quietly across toward the cat. Neither of them moved for a moment, which Dudley must have found a bit disconcerting, for he stopped eating and watched the other cat, eying the plate before it with interest.

“Go on then,” Harry said. He stood and took a couple steps backward, holding out a hand toward Dudley and stroking the cheek behind his whiskers. Dudley let out an appropriate purr, then a low rumbling growl as he returned his attention to his meal.

The newcomer looked warily around, then darted out its paw, quick as lightning, and stabbed a clump of egg. He rolled it off the plate onto the floor, sniffed it, looked up at Harry, then returned his attention to the morsel and ate it. It seemed to have a bit of trouble swallowing it down.

“Need a drink, then?” asked Harry. “Suppose you don’t want to use the dog’s bowl?”

The cat speared another clump of eggs instead, rolling it to the floor as before before eating it.

“What’s wrong? Plate’s not too dirty for you, is it?” asked Harry. “Certainly cleaner now than Hagrid left it.” He chuckled, then filled a bowl with water and walked halfway to the door before placing it on the floor and sliding it across toward the cat.

He skirted around the animals then and took a seat at the heavy work table, picked up a hatchet and started sharpening it on a stone.

The cat looked up from the bowl of water and stared at Harry.

“You’re a nervous one, aren’t you?” Harry said, giving the animal a welcoming nod and a smile. “This is for my work in the forest. ‘S not a weapon. Wouldn’t dream of hurting you.” He glanced at the counter, where Dudley had finished eating and was eying the orange cat’s bowl with interest. “Would I, Dudders?”

Dudders yowled. The orange cat looked annoyed, but then speared a piece of sausage, flicked it to the floor, and ate it.

Harry got back to the business of sharpening the hatchet, Dudley sat on the counter and the orange cat stretched warily, then skirted the edge of the counter, hugged the wall around the table, and leapt up onto the back of Hagrid’s giant-sized armchair.

“So you don’t belong in the village?” Harry asked conversationally five minutes later. He’d finished with the hatchet and pushed it away onto the middle of the table before reaching for a roll of parchment. He opened it and secured the far end by slipping it under the hatchet.

“Alright, I’ve got the turtles for Minerva – think she’ll notice that I transfigured two of them from bullfrogs?”

Dudders had jumped off the counter and was eating the orange cat’s leftovers. He ignored Harry’s question completely.

“What about you, Fred?” asked Harry, looking back at Hagrid’s chair.

The cat blinked slowly, scowling, if indeed cats could scowl. It did not seem to approve.

“What? The name or the turtles?” said Harry, laughing. “Well, you look like him, anyway. A bit. Old friend of mine.”

The cat stared and flicked one ear.

“Fred, not George,” muttered Harry. “And he was a lot less scrawny than you.”

The cat seemed to take exception to the remark. It started to sharpen its claws on the chair.

“Hey.”

It was a firm admonition, but not threatening. The cat paused, claws still buried in upholstery, then seemed to consider before extracting one set of claws, then the other. He certainly took his time about it.

“Much better,” said Harry. He glanced down at the scroll and sighed. 

“A half peck of fairy lace mushrooms.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t even sure what a fairy lace mushroom was. I had to owl Hermione.” He stood and walked to the corner of the room and dug out a large wicker basket with a wire handle. “I think the headmaster may be playing with me.”

The orange cat yowled.

“Alright – testing me, then.” He set the basket on the table. “It’s the right time of the year for fairy lace mushrooms – so at least he’s not sending me on a wild goose chase. But picking them in the moonlight? While naked??

The cat tilted its head, much like the gargoyle had done when Harry had gone to ask the headmaster for Hagrid’s job. 

“I’d be sunk without Hermione,” he said as he opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of tea towels, with which he carefully lined the basket. “She owled me pictures, and instructions. And I found a perfect glade, but there was no moon last night.”

He dropped an unused tea towel on the table and checked the scroll again, and sighed. “I’m going to catch hell from Minerva for those two bullfrogs. Probably should go out and poke around for a couple more box turtles.” He glanced over at the counter, where Dudley the cat had curled up into a ball and was clearly engaged in serious cat-napping, then at the chair. The orange cat – and he had a feeling Fred would not be its name when all was said and done – was, for lack of better word, _studying_ the room, eyes currently fixed on a long and rather elegant looking riding crop suspended from the rafters.

“Do you know what else Hermione told me?” Harry asked as he walked to the door, which was still standing open. “Fairy lace mushrooms are the primary ingredient in the entire spectrum of lust potions.” He stood with arms crossed, looking a bit put-out. “As if Severus Snape would ever need a _lust_ potion to get someone interested.” He grinned. “Well, to get _me_ interested, anyway. Merlin, he’s everything I’ve ever wanted, isn’t he? All dark and sexy with that sultry voice of his and the way he seems to float on air when he walks.”

He sighed then, wistfully, shrugged his shoulders and stepped onto the small landing. “You coming, boy?”

The cat who was not Fred stared, then jumped down onto the seat of the chair and licked its paw.

“Fine. I’m leaving the door open. Do your business outside – _all_ your business – and that includes hairballs. And mouse guts. Leave Dudley be. He’s bigger than you and meaner than he looks. And if you want to keep those claws, no scratching the furniture.”

The cat looked around the room. Harry imagined it was rolling its eyes and thinking, “You call this furniture?”

Harry shook his head, whistled for the corgi and began hiking across the lawn toward the forest.

The cat waited ten minutes before slinking out the door, crossing the footpath and disappearing into the long grass that ran beside it.

A few minutes later, Headmaster Severus Snape emerged from a copse of trees that bordered the lake. He appeared to be stretching a bit, rolling his shoulders and curling his hands into tight fists. He climbed the castle stairs and paused at the top, turning to survey the Hogwarts grounds. A group of students gave him a wide berth as they came in from the Quidditch pitch, but the headmaster’s eyes were on the forest.

An odd look came over his face as the beginnings of a smile tugged at his mouth.

“Is that cat hair on your robes?”

He looked startled as Minerva brushed at his sleeve. “I’ll speak with the house-elves, Severus. The chairs in the faculty lounge could use a good sweeping.”

“Yes – thank you. Do that.” He gave her a distracted nod and disappeared into the castle, his robes billowing majestically behind him.

ooOoo

“He wouldn’t listen to me,” Portrait Albus was explaining to Headmistress Amelia Titmeister. “He says he’s waited long enough, and that young Harry had better be ready because he’d going to be well and properly shagged before the week is out.”

“Albus!” Frau Titmeister exclaimed, turning red from neck to forehead. 

“It’s about time he took some action,” huffed Headmaster Basil Threadington from the frame next door. “As if we don’t know what he’s up to with those _Quidditch Illustrated_ photo spreads and that bottle of Easy Squeeze hand cream.”

Albus sputtered into his teacup.

“He’s been spying on the boy,” whispered Headmistress Ruby Scarmander, leaning down from the frame above Albus.

“Spying?” Headmaster Nigellus shouted from the other side of the room.

“Shhhhhh!!!!!” A dozen or more voices rose, each of them hushing Noisy Nigellus.

“Severus visited Mr. Potter earlier today – in his Animagus form,” Dumbledore informed them unapologetically. “Mr. Potter admitted a certain attraction to our dear headmaster. Severus wisely retained his Animagus form until Mr. Potter left the cottage.”

“So where is he now?” trilled Headmistress Augusta Bedford, pulling on her frilled Elizabethan collar. 

“He’s gone to the Forbidden Forest to spy on him again!” exclaimed Basil Threadington. “I hope he’s taken the Easy Squeeze.”

“The Forbidden Forest! It’s gone nine in the evening and the moon’s not out!” said Julius Jingletunes. He adjusted the powdered wig on his painted head.

But at that exact moment, a ray of moonlight pierced the window and hit the wall behind the table of spindly silver instruments. Light refracted throughout the room and several of the portraits closed their eyes against the unexpected brightness.

“The moon’s out now,” said Albus, nodding with satisfaction. His eyes twinkled as he took another sip of tea. “Have at it, my boy.”

ooOoo

Fairy lace mushrooms grew only in forest glades, and there were three perfect collection areas within a thirty-minute walk from the edge of the forest.

But Severus didn’t have to guess. He was waiting in the shadows a hundred yards from Hagrid’s cottage when Harry started out, towel-lined basket in one hand, wand in the other, lighted tip guiding his way like a Muggle torch. 

Following him in his human form wasn’t an option. He’d make too much noise, brush against trees, step on twigs or leaves, trip over a rock or a root. So, as soon as Harry disappeared into the trees, the light of his wand still visible from the clearing by the cottage, the headmaster quickly transformed into a scruffy orange cat and set off after Harry Potter.

Fortunately, Harry must have done his homework. He made his way directly – walking confidently, whistling quietly – to the largest and closest of the glades. He was alone. The corgi pup and the black cat he called Dudley (odd name for a cat, wasn’t it?) stayed behind. Severus Cat kept a fair distance between himself and Harry, and when Harry reached the clearing and walked out to the middle of it and set the basket on a rock, Severus Cat found a spot between a scrubby bush and a small tree…and sat.

While Severus watched with his light-sensitive cat eyes, Harry walked the perimeter of the clearing, wand sweeping over the earth. Halfway around, he dropped to his knees. 

“The mother lode,” he said, holding a feathery green and orange fairy mushroom up. He stood and walked back to the basket and began to drop it in, then seemed to think better of it.

“Right,” he said, chuckling. “Supposed to be naked when I pick them.”

At that moment, Severus Snape vowed to send Hermione Granger a pound of Honeydukes’ best chocolate.

Harry sat on the rock and pulled off his boots. They were rugged work boots, made of dragonhide. Socks next, and he dropped one into each boot, then took off his jacket and pulled his shirt over his head.

No longer a Quidditch star, but not so long away that he’d gone to seed, either. His chest was well defined, and mostly bare, though he had a nice thatch of hair between his nipples. 

“I wonder if she was having me on,” he said with another chuckle. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, then shook it off and dropped trou.

Severus blinked his large cat eyes, looking his fill.

It was a lovely arse, shapely without being plump, whiter than the skin of his torso and thighs. The cleft was in shadow, and even though he was in cat form, the sight was nearly too much for Severus, who shifted uncomfortably, then licked one paw rather agressively.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself again, then picked up his wand and cast what must have been a warming charm, though he cast it non-verbally. 

And then Harry Potter was on his hands and knees, basket to the side, picking mushrooms.

He lifted each one carefully, examined it briefly, then dropped it into the basket.

Severus Cat watched him for five minutes, then stepped silently away from his hiding place, circling the glade while staying in the trees. He stopped at a spot roughly behind Harry and was about to transform back into his human form when a soft whinny startled him. 

Well butter his arse and call him a biscuit.

A unicorn. 

And not only a unicorn. A mare with a foal.

The mare was blindingly white, her foal still golden. They were directly opposite him, and while he watched, transfixed, Harry slowly changed position, moving from his hands and knees to a seated position, legs crossed, elbows on his knees.

Mother of Merlin! The foal walked tentatively to him, and lowered its head so Harry could scratch behind its ears.

Severus blinked. The boy – Harry. Could he be a _virgin?_

Harry stood.

Slowly, still, he took a step forward, hand extended.

For a moment, Severus saw only Harry’s head. He stood between the creatures now, caressing them both. He lowered his hands at last, and they wandered away into the forest, and Harry dropped back down to hands and knees, delectable arse pointed at Severus, as if nothing had happened.

Severus had waited long enough. He resumed his human form without a sound, but made a show of making a good deal of noise as he walked into the clearing.

“Quite a large basket to fill with such small mushrooms, Mr. Potter. Do you require assistance?”

He was standing behind Harry, and while the body before him went still for a moment, Harry made no move to cover himself or to stand.

“I think you know the requirements for collecting fairy lace mushrooms, Headmaster,” he said.

Severus watched as Harry continued to pick the mushrooms. He’d stuck the handle of his wand in the ground, and the wandlight illuminated the earth around him.

“I don’t mind you watching, Headmaster,” Harry said a few minutes later, aware that Severus was still standing behind him, fully clothed. “But we’ll be here half the night if I have to do this by myself.”

Severus thought, briefly enough, that watching naked Harry Potter pick mushrooms on his hands and knees half the night was not the worst punishment he’d been subjected to in recent years.

But being naked _with_ Harry seemed an even better option. He disrobed quickly, taking the time to fold his robes and pile them atop his boots, then very deliberately walked around the clearing until he stood in front of Harry, only a few paces away. Only the basket on the ground separated them now.

Headmaster Snape was not possessed of the body of Adonis, though he was not ashamed of his body, such as it was. He hadn’t yet developed a penchant for sweets, and never Apparated short distances just to get out of a bit of exercise. In fact, he did a good deal of walking around the castle and grounds, and his forearms were particularly developed from years of chopping, dicing, mincing and stirring. His arse was scrawnier than he’d have liked – he blamed the inferior Snape genes for that deficiency – but his thighs were strong and pleasantly furred. His treasure trail was particularly pleasing, he thought, and led to a nice enough cock. Not overly large, yet certainly not deficient in size. Normal, he’d have said, and as there was little normal about him, he was thankful for this small grace.

Harry Potter stopped picking the oddly coloured, delicate mushrooms when the bare feet appeared before him, just inside the circle of light cast by his wand over the wan moonlight. He stared at those feet, narrow, pale, long-toed, then sat back on his heels, utterly comfortable in his own skin, and let his eyes travel slowly upward, over wiry legs and muscular thighs, smiling vaguely at the perfectly proportioned cock and bollocks, grazing past the narrow waist and scarred chest and neck, and coming to rest, finally, on Headmaster Severus Snape’s face.

“The mushrooms aren’t going to pick themselves,” Harry said. His eyes shone pleasantly in the moonlight, and he nodded toward the basket as he returned to his task. 

Headmaster Snape took a few steps forward and dropped to his knees. “Perhaps a quarter peck will be sufficient. I may not require quite as much of the potion they’re used in as I anticipated.”

“They don’t have the effect in this form, do they?” asked Harry a minute or two later. He’d been watching Severus expertly pluck the fungi from the loose soil, easily picking twice as quickly and efficiently as Harry.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you feeling something…unusual?”

“Oh. No. Not unusual.” Harry shrugged. The moonlight slid off his shoulders onto his largely unblemished back. 

“Well then. No. The chemicals in the mushroom are largely inert until the mushrooms are crushed.”

“Ah.” Harry sat back on his haunches now. The basket was more than half full already. “You do realize we’re both naked, don’t you?

The headmaster rubbed his hands together, brushing off the soil from the mushroom stems. “I had noticed that, yes.”

“You don’t … ah … you don’t do this with _all_ the staff, do you? Some rite of passage I don’t know about?”

The right side of the headmaster’s mouth twitched upward slightly. “No. Not at all.”

“So – ” Harry’s voice trailed off and he tilted his head slightly, and locked eyes with Severus Snape. It was what he did now, with animals and people alike, a prelude to getting inside their head for a brief visit and a bit of a chat. He blinked slowly after a moment, and was pleased to find, when he’d focused his eyes again, that the headmaster was still there.

“I’m going to wager this isn’t only about mushroom picking, then?” he asked. 

“Smart boy,” purred the headmaster.

And that purr – that purr was so vivid, so real, so utterly sexy and so genuinely _feline_ , that Harry’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips. The headmaster’s eyes were glued to him, his mouth parted slightly, as Harry stretched his neck to the left, then the right, then clasped his hands behind his back and pulled, stretching out his shoulders. One would think he was preparing for an athletic event.

Which, as it turned out, he was.

Not a cat fight, though the lithe bodies moved as gracefully as felines when Severus launched himself forward, and Harry fell obligingly back. Their movements were fluid; they rolled at first more like beasts than men. But a minute or two of wrestling seemed to be enough, and control was established, and Severus, victorious, straddling the younger man, could no longer resist the pull of the moon on this autumn equinox, nor the rolling grind of the body beneath him. He lowered his head, hovering his face just above Harry’s, the space of an inch or two separating them. Harry’s hands were under his, pressed against the earth, and the moon shone green in his eyes.

Severus waited too long to make his next move, so Harry closed his hands around Severus’, entwining their fingers, and arched up, closing the space between their faces and sealing their fate with a kiss.

And while a kiss might have been enough for other men, it was just the beginning for these two.

For in the space of only a few minutes, they had wrestled on the mushroomed turf, rolling about on the fragile fungi, crushing them, and adding their own perspiration – a critical ingredient in any good lust potion – to the mix.

The kiss became more urgent, the press of bodies demanding. They rutted and frotted like teenagers, smashing even more mushrooms, mixing them with even more perspiration. Fortunately, they were already naked, for their clothing would have been shredded in the frenzy. 

Severus was hard, harder than he’d ever remembered being. He gained control again, straddling Harry, and slid his hand down to Harry’s cock, circling it with his long-fingered hand and pumping it while Harry writhed beneath him. His own cock was leaking as he finally aligned it with Harry’s and worked them both together. The pull was delicious, the ache indefinable. It took almost no time for them to climax, collapsing together, sweaty, stained, exhausted and completely spent, after an embarrassingly short time.

They rested there, hearts pounding, for another minute.

“I’d like another go,” said Harry as Severus absently brushed mushroom bits off his back. 

Severus was game. The mushrooms had aphrodisiac properties, of course, besides inspiring a yearning lust.

He arranged Harry on his knees and elbows, much as he had found him not so very long before when he’d revealed himself in the glade. But this time, he dropped behind Harry gracefully, caressing the flesh of his arse, running a finger down his cleft, following it with his tongue. Harry bucked and cried out, pressing back into Severus’ fingers and tongue, which worked him gently but thoroughly as Harry keened beneath him.

And Severus took Harry there in the moonlight, sinking into him with a rumbling, deep-bodied purr. He panted with the effort of taking him slowly, of savoring every centimeter of penetration, every ragged breath and muttered plea that fell from Harry’s mouth. _Fuck, Severus. Yes. More. God I need more! Seeeeverussss…_ And Severus was draped over Harry like a blanket, hand across his chest, feeling the beating of Harry’s heart as he sunk into him, there in the moonlit forest glade, after so many years of waiting.

Arousal curled in his gut, centered in his groin. Harry was so bloody tight, so blessedly responsive, so beautifully vocal. _Worth the wait…so worth the wait…_ Severus thought as Harry’s arse seemed to tug at his cock, pulling him in and nearly sending him spiraling into heaven as Harry spurted on the ground beneath them. His own climax came on the heels of Harry’s, and they toppled to the ground together, panting, laughing, rolling. Harry’s arms came around him, and he kissed Severus’ mouth, kissed his jaw, his ear, his neck, reverent and grateful, then pushed himself up, quirking an eyebrow at Severus as he wordlessly summoned his wand, still implanted in the earth. The tingle of a _Scourgify_ made Severus’ hairs stand on end, but Harry gave him no time to recover. He lowered himself a bit further south, taking his new lover into his mouth as Severus arched his back and thought – fleetingly – that they’d probably best get out of the glade or he’d definitely be walking funny tomorrow.

ooOoo

“Professor Dumbledore – wake up!”

Albus Dumbledore woke from his peaceful slumber and fumbled on the table beside his painted chair for his painted spectacles. 

“Harry, my boy!” he exclaimed, leaning forward. “What brings you here – and where is Severus?” He had his spectacles on now, and he strained to look over Harry’s shoulder.

“Sleeping,” Harry answered, with a tired grin. “He’s rather knackered.”

Above him, Headmistress Scarmander let out an undignified snort.

Harry grinned up at her, winking conspiratorially.

“Headmaster….”

“Yes?” At least twenty voices replied, and Harry shook his head.

“Headmaster _Dumbledore_.” He cocked his head, as was his wont, and peered at the old headmaster. “Severus explained about the contract. About your little…arrangement.”

The room had gone very quiet as several dozen headmasters strained to hear every word.

“Go on, then, my boy.” Albus Dumbledore seemed quite happy, at that moment, to be a two-dimensional portrait and not a flesh and blood headmaster.

“Careful!” warned Headmaster Nigellus. “Remember what he did the last time you tried to have one over on him.”

Harry plopped his rump down on Severus’ desk and lifted his feet up to rest on his chair. “I’ve rather liked him since my sixth year, you know,” he said.

“Oh?” Portrait Dumbledore’s eyes lit up, twinkling a bit in the flat plane of his current existence. “Do tell.”

“You might recall I went to extraordinary measures to help get him acquitted,” Harry continued. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, still peering at the portrait. “I thought he was interested there for a bit, but he pushed me away.”

“That was Albus’ doing,” called out Headmaster Threadington. “He told Snape to let you live a bit. Sow your wild oats and all.”

“I never mentioned _oats_ ,” grumbled Dumbledore, looking a bit put out.

“Ahh.” Harry crooked a finger at the gold and red bird on the painted perch beside Dumbledore. Fawkes let out a pleasant trill then spread his wings, flew from the portrait with a puff of gold dust, landed on Harry’s shoulder and nipped gently at his ear.

“I liked playing Quidditch, you know,” Harry said, deceptively offhandedly. He stroked Fawkes’ head and chirruped gently at him.

“And Snape liked ogling you in _Quidditch Illustrated_ ,” chimed in Frau Titmeister. 

“I’m only saying,” began Harry, ignoring Titmeister’s taunt totally, “that it’s been five years – five! And I’ve only just now….” He blushed, and shrugged one shoulder. “Well, you know.”

“I only thought to give you a bit of time to grow up, before you were … obliged to be with Severus.”

“You assumed I’d be opposed to that, of course,” Harry countered. “Yet you committed me nonetheless. Interesting.”

“Severus was critical to the operation,” Dumbledore replied, giving Fawkes a disapproving look as he snuggled against Harry. “I simply let him choose his reward.”

“And he chose me,” Harry mused. “Interesting.”

He stood and pushed the chair away from the desk with his feet, then spun it around and tucked it into the desk.

“Could have done without the Bludger, you know,” Harry said as he disappeared through the hidden door back to the headmaster’s quarters.

But he was smiling as he mounted the stairs, and the trill of phoenix song filled the room as he slipped into bed beside Severus.

ooOoo

“Well, come in if you’re coming in,” said Harry, cracking the cottage door open for Dudley. Severus was already in the cottage, sitting at the table drinking tea from an over-sized teacup. Dudley was immediately drawn to him, and strolled back and forth beneath his chair, then placed his paws on the seat beside Severus’ leg and yet out a loud _yowl_.

“Dudders! What’s got into you?” Harry asked as Severus pushed the cat away, looking a bit worried. “He’s fine – he won’t hurt you. He’s usually so friendly with visitors.”

Dudley was attacking from the other side now, and sank his claws in Severus’ calf. Severus kicked out reflexively, and Dudley slid across the floor, then launched himself onto the table, where he swiped at Severus’ face, drawing a spot of blood.

“Dudley – outside!” Harry held the door open and glared at the cat while it slunk across the floor, hissing one last time at Severus before Harry used his foot to scoot it through the door and outside.

He shut the door and turned to Severus.

“I’m really sorry, Severus. I’ll keep him outside from now on.”

Severus smiled wanly. “I’m suppose I’m just not much of a cat person,” he said.

ooOoo

And Severus Snape married Harry Potter, fasting hands before all the headmasters and headmistresses who had served before him. And the house-elves cried, and drank far too much butterbeer, and the faculty toasted with champagne flutes raised, and the students enjoyed a day with no classes and played Quidditch without supervision and several of them fell into the lake, but nary a one drowned.

And while Fawkes sat upon Harry’s shoulder, and a gulp of magpies, a murder of crows and two wayward post owls spied on the ceremony from window ledge perches, a certain orange tabby was conspicuously absent.

He did appear from time to time, over the years, until Harry started to wonder just how long a common housecat could live. But when he mentioned it to Severus, Severus reminded him that Hogwarts was a magical place, and many things were possible there.

Magical things like a family of their own, a baby who was the best of Harry and the best of Severus, who crawled after the corgi and chewed on Dudder’s tail and sat on Severus’ lap reaching for the ink bottle after pesky Board of Governor’s meetings when her Papa needed cheering up.

And Harry, satisfied with the magical explanation, shrugged, because the issue of the long-lived cat with the nearly hairless neck really didn’t seem to be all that important after all, and kissed his husband half senseless. He then swept their daughter up into his arms, extracting her from her favorite spot beneath the table with the delicate instruments, deposited little Lilac on Severus’ lap with a kiss for her and one more for Severus, threw on his moleskin coat, and went to check on the Thestral foals.

Severus watched him go, then frowned at Lilac as she turned to grab at his nose. He licked the back of his hand and rubbed it across her cheek to clean a spot of dirt, then arranged her on his lap out of reach of the ink bottle. He grinned a not-quite Cheshire grin, and returned to his paperwork, humming softly to himself as behind him, Portrait Dumbledore closed one twinkling eye and commenced snoring.

_The end_


End file.
